Mindful
by Aerophin
Summary: The mind is his battlefield, but it's her playground. — ShikamaruIno. AUish.


The world dances in shades of green and grey.

He tries to remember if it's always been this way, but the onset of sharp throbbing pain in the back of his skull quickly changes his mind. He wrings his hands, his fingers itching to grab _something_, his lungs burning for satiation, but he can't fathom for what.

She appears before him, cradling a bowl of broth between her hands and nursing a frown on her face. Placing it before him, she sits across from him, watching him eat like some invalid. He scowls into his bowl. He's not _sick, _he's just confused.

They're far from the action, but images of battle filter in through the campsite, a medley of broken bones and bloodied weapons. Why does he feel so guilty at the sight of their ineptitude on the battlefield?

"You okay?" she asks, breaking his thoughts. Her green eyes scan his face carefully.

"Yeah," he answers simply, dropping his spoon back into the bowl, his unfinished broth sloshing over the sides. He can't eat. Not after seeing their wounded trudge through camp.

He searches his mind for something, _anything_ he can do to help. What if they took a different approach to their tactics? What if they attacked at night instead or—

He screams as pain surges through his head. He clutches at his hair frantically, trying to dispel the agonizing throbbing of his head.

"Stop!" she shrieks. "Stop thinking!"

Opening his eyes, he finds himself on the ground, her figure looming over him. He groans as she helps him into a sitting position.

"It's okay," she croons, biting her lip. "She'll be here soon."

"Who?" he asks dazedly.

She says a name, but it's muffled, coming at him through an ocean of fog so thick he can't make it out. It tugs at his conscious, willing to be understood, but even trying to decipher it would bring back the pain. He shakes his head.

He can't remember who he is, or where he is. He doesn't even know the girl before him, her blonde hair tied high upon her head, but it's obvious through her actions that he's supposed to know her. He doesn't meet her eyes, doesn't want to see the disappointment swimming there, and stares at his motionless hands.

The next day, there's a commotion outside his tent. He doesn't move to see what's happening, because even trying to comprehend a simple situation will threaten to reduce him to a whimpering mass of flesh. He'd rather not look any more weak than he already is.

The flap of his tent flings open, and she stands at the entrance, outlined in sunshine and gold, blue eyes twinkling.

Maybe it's the light, maybe it's her face, but he turns away as soon as his sight lands on her, pain beginning to blossom behind his eyes.

A myriad of faceless bodies weave their way into his tent. It's small, and beginning to get cramped, but he supposes they're important people if they need to be present for whatever's going to happen next. He supposes _he's_ an important person if they're so concerned with him.

He can sense the girl from yesterday pushed to the far side of his tent, but he's too busy ignoring the new girl to pay her any attention.

The blue-eyed blonde stalks up to him, and he can practically hear the laughter in her voice.

"Oh, Shika, Shika. What would you ever do without me?" she singsongs.

He grunts in irritation, still not meeting her eyes.

"Now's not the time for banter, Yamanaka," a distant voice drones.

Blue Eyes laughs a little, and he can imagine her smiling. It must be bright and radiant, like the rest of her.

She sits across from him, crossing her legs just as he has, and leans forward. He leans back.

"Shika," she says, gently. "Look at me."

And he does so, because there's an irresistible quality to her lovely voice that he can't deny. And as soon as he does, her bright blue eyes light up even more, a smile dances across her face, and there's a sharp, pressing need to recognize her, to remember her because she's so damn important to his very _existence_—and his mind abruptly lights up in searing agony.

He grabs his head in distress, and tries to suppress his moans. A cry goes up from those standing in his tent, and Blue Eyes gasps in shock and reaches out for him, her hands landing on his own. A soothing sensation fills his head, pushing out the pain, and he can finally breathe again.

"Get on with it, Yamanaka," someone intones.

"Right."

She leans close to him, removes his hands from his head, and places her fingers on his temple. "Sorry if this gets painful," she speaks to him, low so only he can hear.

And suddenly she's there, a presence inside his mind, pushing and prodding where she shouldn't because it _hurts_. She frolics around the pain, seeking and releasing and soothing and breaking down the mental barriers of his brain. Walls come up to stop her, concrete fortresses spring up around his conscious, but she dances up and across them effortlessly, leaving laughter behind in her wake, and his barricades fall from the inside.

She's a streak of yellow haze, weaving her way through his mind, ephemeral and celestial, pulsing with vivacity. He feels the blocks around his immense knowledge crumbling beneath her touch, and the pain receding as he dives into the dusty crevices of his psyche that's been held away from him for far too long.

But there's one last lock to undo. She stands before the hindrance, vibrating with pure energy. Pausing for the briefest of moments, she searches for a crack in his defense, something, anything, however minuscule. She finds it, and he can imagine a cocky smile flitting across ethereal lips. She surges forward without hesitance, and suddenly his very being is pulsating with her presence, overflowing to the brim with the very essence of her, every fissure and rent in his mind teeming with her soul.

The lock cracks, and his memories and intellectual abilities spill forward, held back no more by an enemy's mental block, years and years of withheld knowledge threatening to flood his conscious, and he's gasping for air, but she holds them back with her own strength, letting only a small stream slip through. His head pounds with the overwhelming return of his mental capabilities, but she's there again, soothing with her gentle touch.

When the sea of his conscious settles enough for her to take her leave, she circles around his mind several times, hesitant, then dips forward, and in the most intimate of touches, presses her conscious towards his in a gentle kiss. He's shocked, and if a conscious could blush he was sure his would be, but before he can react, she's already pulled away and out, and he resurfaces to the physical world, light dancing across his eyes and sound filtering through his ears.

She's the first thing he sees, a slight sheen of sweat across a furrowed brow, blue eyes blinking awake. Her chest is heaving, as if she's run a marathon, but she's smiling because she's brought him back. It's only after she's removed her fingers from his temple that he realizes she's been pouring insane amounts of healing chakra into his head, and he catches her easily when she falls forward in a dead faint.

"Ino!" he calls out, cradling her limp body and brushing the bangs out of her face. Sakura rushes forward in worry.

Her eyes flicker open, blinking madly to bring her vision into focus, and when she sees his worried face above hers, she can't help a smile.

And the sky returns to its normal hue of deep blue. Water is pure again, and he can name everyone in camp.

Two days later, she and her team are preparing to leave. They may have won the battle, but not the war. She straps her kunai holster to her thigh, unaware of his presence creeping behind her, and gives a jerk when his hand lands on her back.

"Shika!" she exclaims.

"Be careful," is all he says.

She smirks. "I should be saying that to you. I can't come running every time you need a mental block lifted, got it?" Her eyes are dancing, but her lips press into a thin line. "Just watch your back, okay?"

He nods. Kiba calls out to her, to ask if she's ready, and she yells back in the affirmative. She turns to him, grabs his hand, and gives a tight squeeze before running off. She's jerked back, however, when his hand refuses to let go. Giving a curious glance at their still-adjoined hands, she raises a brow.

"You kissed me," he says without preamble.

Shock registers over her face, but then her eyes crinkle and the corner of her mouth lifts in some unknown secret, and she saunters close to him, haughtiness in her gait. His breath hitches as she lifts a finger to trace the underside of his jaw, and she leans in close to whisper sultrily, "Oh, Shika. My lips never touched you."

She pulls back abruptly, and he's missing her touch already. Akamaru barks and Kiba yells that she can seduce him on her own time, not when there's a war going on. She turns her back, and the sight of it makes him scowl.

"You could at least have the courage to own up to it," he calls after her, not caring about the growing group of shinobi watching them.

She stops in her tracks. Spinning on her heels, she stalks back to him, coming in close and grabbing his shirt, and pulling his lips down onto hers. It only takes a second for his mind to register what's happening, and then his hands are grasping her closer to him as he plunders her mouth. In the distance, someone wolf-whistles, but he's too preoccupied being reminded of her conscious filling his entire being only two days prior to shut them up.

He's pleased to see her flushed cheeks when they pull away and gives a smirk.

"When we get back to Konoha, you're taking me on a real date," she growls, wanting to smack the smugness off his face. Then she presents him with a rather large, knowing smile, and speaks, "Maybe I'll even wear that red dress I wore to your jounin celebration. You never told me how much you loved it on me."

And he curses as she dances off to Kiba's side, a blush festering across his cheeks, because who knows how much ammunition she has against him now since she swam unchecked in the deepest recesses of his consciousness.


End file.
